Hell A
by Mice
Summary: Angel Investigations has just inherited Wolfram & Hart...and Bobby Drake, the new head of accounting.
1. Hell A, pt 1

Author's Note: I've never written Angel fic. I've never written Buffy the Vampire Slayer fic. I've never written a crossover fic. Here's hoping that it all works out, somehow...

Bobby Drake and Warren Worthington belong to Marvel. Characters from Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer belong to Mutant Enemy.

Hell-A

By Mice

Prologue

Westchester, NY

Warren Worthington, III had just finished up a call on his cell phone when he saw his friend Bobby Drake. His good, CPA holding friend Bobby Drake. 

"What's going on, Warren?"

"I just got word on one of my investments."

Bobby grinned. "Is it another whore house? Because if you need me to do undercover work, all you have to do is ask..."

"Not quite. It's an investment I made in Los Angeles." Warren picked up a file that was next to him. "It's a firm called Wolfram and Hart." Warren showed Bobby the file. "When I made the investment with them, it was after an all night frat party I attended -- when we had the Champions. At the time, it was a pretty small investment. I had maybe three percent interest." Warren showed Bobby a pie graph. "That's how much I own now."

Bobby whistled.

"Apparently, my stock split when I became one of the Horsemen of Apocalypse. " Warren handed the paper work to Bobby. "I need someone to go to L.A. and check it out for me."

"Why can't you?"

"I have responsibilities here."

"I have responsibilities, too!"

"Taping "Passions" for Hank does not count as a responsibility. Besides, I got him TiVo."

Bobby's face went white at the news. "NOW you get TiVo? You make me leave, and then you get TiVo?!"

"The other reason I need you to go is because there has been a suspicious disappearance of the head of accounting over there. What better way to infiltrate the offices than by planting you, financial wizard, over there?"

"You've never called me a financial wizard before. Not even when I insisted on being called a financial wizard after I graduated with top honors in accounting from Dartmouth."

"That's because you only got top honors after a suspicious break in at the computer records center at Dartmouth, the same weekend Hank went over to visit you."

Bobby pouted. "My mom called me a financial wizard...even my father did, though I don't know if it was because he was proud of me or laughing at me..."

Warren handed him the file. "If you go to L.A., Bobby, I promise you that I will arrange your accommodations."

"I want a penthouse."

"Not a problem."

"And a car."

"Of course."

"A nice one, too. A convertible."

Warren nodded. "Now, aside from doing the accounting, I need you to send me reports on what you see over there. And most importantly, I need you to tell me if this Angel guy is better looking than me."

Bobby looked over the file. "Are you sure that this isn't another whore house?"

-1-

Bobby couldn't say that he was thrilled with his new identity. For one, his alias was "Bobby Drake". Secondly, Warren told him not to use his powers while working there. This would put a hamper on his macking skills. As Wolfram and Hart's new Head of Accounting, he was to be as exciting as a saltine cracker. The only thing that made him stop from doing it all was Warren's generous expense account. And his car was really cool. Really, really cool.

-2-

"There was an Astin-Martin parked in my space this morning," Wesley said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Who in this building has an Astin-Martin?"

"Did the license plate say "Lady J"?" Fred asked.

"You know that's a James Bond car. I should think that if anyone should have a James Bond car, it should be me..."

Angel walked into the conference room and turned his attention to Wesley. "Are you talking about the Astin-Martin in the garage?"

"If I had an Astin-Martin, as well I should, the plates would say "Britain's Most Dangerous Weapon"."

Fred shook her head. "You couldn't fit all of that on there, it would have to be something like--"

"MstDngrsWpn"," Angel answered effortlessly. Wesley and Fred stared at him. "Well, you couldn't have it even if you tried...not that I did. It's licensed to Frankie Muniz."

"That kid on that show on Fox?" Gunn asked as he entered the room. "Can he even drive yet? Can he even reach the pedals?"

Angel kept his eyes down. "Apparently, the license plate is on a 1959 yellow Corvette."

To this, all the men groaned. Fred stared at the door, daring Lorne to walk in.

"Hi, kids, sorry I'm late." Lorne walked in and glared at Wesley. "Someone took my parking space."

"Well, someone took mine!"

"Actually, I re-assigned the spot to our new head of accounting," Angel interjected.

"The new head of accounting has an Astin-Martin?" Wesley grumbled. "This truly is a place of evil."

"I called this meeting because we know nothing about this guy..." Angel looked at his file. "Robert Drake."

"We hired someone we know nothing about?" questioned Gunn. "Now, maybe I'm not the best at business, but even I know that's not a smart thing to do."

Angel nodded. "I know. But it wasn't my decision. It was this guy named Worthington, who owns some stock in this branch of Wolfram and Hart."

"But you have controlling interest," Fred added.

"Yeah, but Worthington still has a lot of pull with his amount." 

"How'd this happen?" Gunn asked. "We "ended world peace". We got Wolfram and Hart. What'd this guy do, become friends with some Apocalyptic creature?"

"Funny you should mention that, Gunn," Angel answered as he opened the file again. "This Worthington guy was a horseman of Apocalypse."

"You mean "of the Apocalypse"," Fred corrected.

Wesley shook his head. "No, I don't think he does. There is an actual creature with immense power called Apocalypse."

"Well, I can see how Worthington polished enough apples to get on Wolfram and Hart's good list," Lorne commented.

"There's also something else about his family providing the financial backing for the Cabbage Patch Kid merchandise..." Angel changed his focus. "Point is, we have no idea who this guy and he's going to be handling probably the most evil part of Wolfram and Hart. I want everyone to keep a close eye on him."

"We can do what we can, but we have our own departments to handle!" Gunn explained. "I think someone should be on this guy twenty-four/seven."

"Set him up with a security guard?" Fred offered.

"I've got a better idea." Angel went to his intercom and pressed a button. "Let him in."

The five turned their attention to the door and found a silhouette reaching for the handle. It turned slowly...if a bit ineffectually.

"Uhm...Mr. Angel?" the silhouette called from its side of the door. "It won't open."

Angel looked at Lorne. "Did you lock it?"

"I swear I didn't."

There was a slight banging on the door. "I think it maybe stuck..." the voice said.

"No, don't do that, I'll come over to--"

The door flew open and a young man fell on the floor, only to promptly pick himself back up. "I'm okay, everyone, don't worry." He grinned and waved at everyone at the table. "Hi."

Angel went over to check his door, which seemed to be fine, and closed it. He then went by the young man. "This is Andrew. He's going to be Robert Drake's secretary."

"Administrative Assistant," Andrew corrected.

"Can we trust him?" Wesley asked.

"I think the question should be, "Can we trust him not to stick his finger in an open light socket?" Lorne replied.

"Uhm...now, that's a good question," Andrew replied in a very official tone. "I think you would be pleased to know that I was part of Buffy's gang ...her crowd...her posse...and I helped fight the first evil. And...I was once her arch-nemesis. Willow tried to kill me. It was pretty intense."

Wesley sighed and muttered under his breath, "Things have certainly gone downhill since I left Sunnydale..."

"Mr. Angel?" a voice called from over his intercom.

Angel went over to it and pressed a button. "Yes?"

"Robert Drake is at the front desk to see you, Mr. Angel."

"Just a minute." Angel turned to the others. "I need someone to show Mr. Drake around."

"What about him?" Gunn asked while pointing at Andrew.

"And I need someone to show Andrew around." Angel first looked to Lorne.

"I think all this," Lorne gestured to his face, "Would be a bit much to show on the first day."

"Good point." Angel then turned to Fred. 

"I'm a poor, helpless, defenseless girl--"

Gunn laughed.

"Well, he doesn't know that I'm not! Do you really want him potentially attacking me on the first day?"

"And I'm busy doing what it is I do today," Gunn added.

"I may hurt him and his Astin-Martin, too."

"That Astin-Martin out there is Mr. Drake's?" Andrew exclaimed before sighing. "Just like James Bond."

"I'm the British one! I should be James Bond!"

"Maybe Mr. Drake's British..." Andrew offered.

"Enough!" Angel shouted to his team. "One of you is going to show these two around. If no one will volunteer, then I'll settle this the way we did back in Ireland..."

-3-

"Is that really the way they settled things in 18th century Ireland, Mr. Wyndham-Price?"

"While I haven't looked up it's origin, I'm fairly sure that "Eenie-Meenie-Minie-Moe" has been quite ubiquitous throughout history. I heard an account once that involved Atilla the Hun." Wesley glared at his reflection in the elevator doors. "Either that or Angel hates me."

The doors opened to the front lobby and Wesley spotted Robert Drake right away. He was a tall, dark, fearsome man with a pony tail who would be a worthy opponent. The pony tail made sure of that. Wesley went up to him. "Welcome, Mr. Drake, to Wolfram and Hart."

The man looked at Wesley and held up a bag. "I just deliver bagels, man. Try that guy." The man pointed to a light haired man dressed in a light brown suit and black Converse sneakers. "He's been trying to get a bagel from me for the past ten minutes."

Wesley took small, dreaded steps towards the man, not wanting to speak up. Unfortunately, Andrew did.

"Hey, we have the same shoes!"

"Mr. Drake?"

The man got up and took Wesley's hand. "Call me Bobby."

"Call me Mr. Wyndham-Price."

"His name is Wesley," Andrew told Bobby. He held out his hand. "My name is Andrew and I am your Administrative Assistant." 

Wesley glared at Andrew out of the corner of his eye. "I'm just doing my job, Mr. Wyndham-Price..."

Bobby grinned as he listened to Wesley. "Hey, you're English!"

"I'm British."

"Like James Bond. I love Bond. I even have an Astin-Martin, have you seen it?"

In that moment, Wesley was quite tempted to show Bobby this special room Lilah had once shown him. It was referred to as the Office of Downsizing Management, but the office was really just a vat of acid. "Yes, well, let's start the tour, shall we?" Wesley began walking towards the science lab, Bobby and Andrew soon followed. "So, Bobby...tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Oh, I don't know...why don't you tell me about how you know Worthington."

"Warren and I went to school together."

"So he's a millionaire and you're an accountant?" Wesley cocked an eyebrow. "Interesting."

Bobby felt himself being challenged. "We both went to the same private school. It was very, very exclusive -- money didn't factor in."

"What made it so exclusive?"

Bobby almost answered, "Having mutant powers that are way cooler than having a British accent!" but he knew that having a British accent was much cooler than most powers. And he wasn't supposed to say anything about being a mutant. "It was exclusive because of our ability--" Think, Bobby! he scolded himself. You had high IQ's, you all spoke five different languages, you--"to play music. We were each accomplished musicians."

"What did you play?"

"Oh, I didn't play."

"You just said that you all were accomplished musicians. What instrument did you play?"

Bobby kicked himself mentally for forgetting his lie so quickly. "Oh, see, you confused me...because you said "play" -- our professor told us that we weren't "playing" our instruments, rather we were "becoming" our instruments." Bobby was quite sure that was a line out of "Mr. Holland's Opus".

"Well, then, which instrument did you "become"?"

"I "became" a French horn in the seventh grade!" Andrew interrupted. "But then my teacher said that I should look into "becoming" the triangle."

Wesley shot Andrew a glance before stopping them. "Here we are." Wesley opened the clear glass doors. Wesley's eyes surveyed the area pick out Fred immediately. He wanted another round of "Eenie-Meenie-Minie-Moe".

-4-

What were the odds that Fred would beat him again. Beat me again approximately three times more, Wesley thought privately and bitterly. Now not only was he stuck showing Bobby around, he owed her fifty dollars.

"Any questions so far, Bobby?"

"I do, actually." Bobby got out a notebook. It was a special notebook because inscribed in its cover, "The Secret Notebook of Ninja Iceman". It helped him get through what looked to be his incredibly boring mission. He had comprised a list of questions while waiting to board his airplane at La Guardia. "What is it that Wolfram and Hart does?" He felt that it was better to start off honestly.

Wesley stared at him. "You don't know?"

"No."

"Worthington didn't tell you?"

"Warren and I haven't talked for a while until this job came up." Bobby was proud of his mad skillz. "I've done favors in the past -- if you know what I mean -- and as a reward, he gave me this job."

"You agreed to take a job whose company you have no clue about?"

"I know that I get a lot of money. That's all that mattered." Bobby thanked Hank for taking his copy of _Coyote Ugly_ away and leaving _Wallstreet_ in its place. It was helping. A lot. Unless there was an opportunity here that involved drinking and scantily clad women dancing and grinding on a bar, which could lead to a whore house, just like he originally suspected.

"I think I'm going to show you our entertainment division, next..."

-5-

Wesley knocked on Lorne's door and entered. Lorne's chair was turned toward the window and he was talking on the phone. "Look, I know that the old W&H dealt with being evil, but as the new face of said company, I'm telling you, I don't care what ring two solid hours of _Full House _re-runs are in the inferno, we need to put a stop to it. There has to be some decent show we can put on instead. Uh huh...no, _Charles in Charge_ is not a suitable replacement! In fact, use this as a rule of thumb -- "Just say nay-o to Baio", okay? Bye, Dante." Lorne hung up the phone and swiveled around in his chair. "Hey, Wes. See you brought the new guy down." He got up to shake Bobby's hand, waiting for the screaming or shaking to begin. "I'm Lorne."

Bobby took his hand. "I'm Bobby."

Wesley stared at Bobby, waiting for a reaction. "Lorne is a demon from another dimension."

"Cool. I'm from Long Island."

"Are you a demon from Long Island?" Lorne asked.

"No, just human. But I think some of my neighbors are..."

Wesley spoke up. "You know about demons?"

"Well, I don't know anything about demons, but I've met quite a few."

"...at the private school you attended for accomplished musicians?"

"Oh, no. I've met them--" Bobby stopped himself before he could answer anything remotely close to "by a steaming hole in the ground with my best friend's wife, who is a clone of his recent wife and mother of his child, standing above them in a skimpy outfit."

"--at a camp for accomplished musicians."

"You met demons at a camp?"

"Interlochen?" Lorne asked.

Bobby nodded. "Yes."

Wesley looked at Lorne. "Interlochen?"

"It's in Michigan. A lot of the musically accelerated go there. A lot of demon activity -- both actual attendees and...well, not paid attendees. Bigfoot was there for a bit." Lorne went to his bar and poured himself a drink. "I don't know what you learned at Interlochen, kid, but if you have any other question about demons, Wesley there is your man."

Wesley glared at Lorne. He seemed to be doing a lot of glaring today...

"Oh, and I have demon experience, too. I've, uhm, summoned a few and have even cast a few spells," Andrew added, his body unconsciously swaying to something. "Have you ever summoned a demon, Mr. Drake?"

Bobby shook his head. "I dated a goddess once..."

All three turned to look at him. "It wasn't a big deal. Oh, but I did date a nebula..."

"What happened?" Lorne asked.

"Turned into a man."

Andrew nodded. "Awesome."

Wesley took a break from glaring and blinked. "I think it's about time you saw your office, Bobby."

-6-

Bobby dialed Warren on his cell phone. "It's me, Warren. No, it's not to thank you for the car -- oh, you liked that -- I don't know, Warren, I'm at work -- yes, I do know it's an Astin-Martin -- I don't want my staff to hear me say that...again -- oh, okay -- You are the God of Cool, Warren and I promise to be your obedient slave for life--" Bobby stopped talking as he saw Andrew in front of him. "Hold on, Warren." He turned to Andrew. "Yes?"

"I just wanted to know if there was anything you wanted me to do. I'm getting kind of bored out there." He picked up a Jango Fett figure off of Bobby's desk. "And you got better toys than I do." He immediately started to walk Jango Fett over to Han Solo and started a low volume fight between the two.

Warren said something Bobby's ear, to which he repeated. "Andrew--" Andrew continued his new game. "Andrew!" 

"Sorry, Mr. Drake."

"Andrew, how much do you know about Wolfram and Hart?"

Andrew moved his head around for a moment, contemplating the question before answering. "Uhm, I don't know much, but I know stuff."

"Do you know Angel? -- no, Warren, not you!"

"I know stuff about him."

"How?"

"I used to hang with his ex-girlfriend."

Bobby nodded. "Tell you what, Andrew, let me finish up my call and I'll take you out to lunch."

"Can we go in your Astin-Martin?" Andrew asking, brightening. "I'd offer my ride...but it's a Vespa scooter. And I only have one helmet."

"Absolutely. And Andrew?"

"Yes, Mr. Drake?"

"Jango Fett and Han Solo would never fight. They never even knew each other."

Andrew sighed with happiness. "Yes, Mr. Drake."

-7-

Angel hung up the phone and turned to Wesley. "I have to admit I'm surprised."

"What's that?"

"Andrew is out on lunch with Bobby."

Wesley checked his watch. "Is it lunch time already?"

"Not the point. Andrew can pump Bobby for information."

Wesley winced at the phrasing. 

"You said that Bobby wasn't phased at all when he saw Lorne?"

"He said something about demons at a band camp--"

"Interlochen?"

"How did you know?"

"That's where I met Bigfoot."

-8-

"...so that's when Buffy saved the world that time."

"Were you hanging out with her then?"

"Uhm...no. I think I was at a friend's basement...uhm, house."

"Andrew, were you playing Dungeons and Dragons?"

"I was watching _Baywatch._"

"Andrew..."

"Okay, I was playing Dungeons and Dragons!" Andrew grinned. "Are you sure we should be drinking during our lunch break, Mr. Drake?"

"It's just a margarita, Andrew. It's a candy-ass Kool Aid drink."

"It's a strong margarita..."

Bobby changed the topic. "So, what's the story with Angel?"

"Oh, he's a vampire."

Bobby whitened. "A vampire?"

"Oh, it's cool. He has a soul now." Andrew finished his drink. "By the way, you're going to hear that phrase _a lot_."

"'It's cool'?"

"'He has a soul now.'"

"I see."

"Angel is this champion of the people--"

"And Buffy's ex-boyfriend?" Bobby wondered how ugly this Slayer chick was.

Andrew sighed. "Yeah." Andrew got up. "I need to use the bathroom."

Bobby waited until Andrew was gone to raid his messenger bag. In it, he found his wallet. One was a picture of Andrew and two other guys. He turned it around and saw, "Me, Jonathan and Warren." Bobby looked at the Warren in this picture and had a brief thought that it might be Angel. That would be creepy and Buffy would definitely have to be beaten with an ugly stick to go out with him. "Please, do not be my boss..."

He found another picture of a blond girl with a weird nose and bony arms. He turned the picture around and found the name "Buffy" on it. He was right. She was ugly.

Bobby was still looking for something in Andrew's bag when he came back. "Uhm, Mr. Drake, what are you doing with my bag?"

"You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Nothing."

"Oh."

"Hey, Andrew, why do I have your bag?"

"Didn't I give it to you?"

"I don't think so."

"I must have, why else would I have given it to you?"

"Well, take it back. I have no need for it." 

-9-

Lorne knocked on Bobby's door. Angel had instructed him to go down to Bobby's office and see if he could get him to sing to see if he could get anything. It was desperate and rash, but it might work.

"Hey, Lorne."

"Did you know that it's a Wolfram and Hart tradition to have a karaoke hour with yours truly on your first day?"

"Really?" Bobby asked, curious.

"Really?" Andrew asked, excited.

Lorne made a mental note to give himself a raise.

-10-

"Can you hear me Major Tom! Can you HEAR ME Major Tom! Can you HEAR ME--"

Lorne walked out of the room, shaking his head. He saw Angel waiting by the door and just shook his head at him.

"Something wrong?" Angel asked.

"I went in there to get Bobby to sing like you told me, but your Boy Blunder has been hogging the microphone for most of the hour, and let me tell you, the "hoyay" in there is overwhelming. ." 

Lorne made his way out, leaving Angel alone to look at the door and say, "Hoyay?"


	2. Hell A, pt 2

Hell-A, pt. 2

By Mice

"Wheegettabreechinnzercurty!"

Angel, Wesley, Fred, Gunn, and Lorne just stared.

"Repeat that," Fred asked.  "This time, take breaths between your words."

"And through your nose!" Gunn added.

"We have a breach in security," Andrew clarified.

"Is it Drake?"  It came out darker than Wesley had intended, but he _really_ wanted it to be Drake.

"Worse, it's the entire department!"

Angel nodded knowingly.  "I knew something was going on in Accounting."

"Hold on, Caped Crusader," Lorne tossed off to Angel.  "Andrew, what's wrong with the Accounting…aside from all the accounting?" 

"Someone stole my mug."

The staring resumed.

"It's my favorite mug!" Andrew insisted, shocked at the lack of enthusiasm.

No one moved.

"It has the Cantina scene in hologram form, so when you move it, they dance."  Still, no one moved.  The same could not be said for Andrew's lower torso…

"Are you sure someone stole it?" Lorne hedged, trying hard to bite down the added, "Did you check the flag pole to see if it was up by your boxers?"

Angel glowered.  It was 9:15, so it was easy to do.  "Why are you telling us this?  Isn't this something Bobby should be taking care of?"

"I'm telling you guys because you asked me to keep an eye out if anything went missing."

"We forgot to specify, Andrew," Gunn growled.  "Anyone.  If _anyone_ goes missing."  Andrew opened up his mouth again, but Gunn spoke quickly.  "That includes the toy dudes you have on your desk."

Andrew pouted.  "I just thin it's curious that my mug and Kay go missing on the same day."  With that, Andrew left.

"I think someone has a bad case of PMS," Lorne quipped as he began to take a sip of his coffee.  Right before the hot, dark brown waves entered his mouth, something dawned on him.  "Wait, who's Kay?"

-2-

Deep in the belly of Wolfram and Hart say Kay Hartford, a twenty-five year-old accountant who had moved to Los Angeles from Baltimore for the warm weather.  Now, not only was she freezing from the air conditioner, she had been kidnapped.  She stared at her old boss, previous Head of Accounting, Kent Durwilling.  Only she had the capacity to scream.

"I AM NOT GOING TO KILL YOU," a voice said from the frosty shadows.  "AT LEAST…NOT UNTIL I GATHER THE OTHERS."

"Well, can you do me a favor then?"

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I AM NOT TURNING UP THE THERMOSTAT!"

"It's not that…though you could get me a sweater!  I just want to ask that if you have to kidnap someone, can you hold off on kidnapping Rose Johnson?"

"WHY?"

"She annoys me.  Our cubicles are by each other, and all she ever does is talk and talk and talk and talk…she never shuts up!  I mean, if it isn't too much—"

"NO, NOT AT ALL – I KNEW A PAGODA DEMON WHO DID THE SAME.  MAYBE I'LL JUST EAT HER INSTEAD…"

"Well, you'll have no complaints from me about that."

-3-

His eyes were concentrated mystery and his lips were parted into a pout.  With his hair properly gelled and looking particularly fantastic, he pouted. "I have a soul now."

"Oooh!" the pretty intern squealed, moved by the darkness in him.  "So, are you a vampire?"

"…yes."

The intern moved in closer and touched the skin on his chest.  "Oh, you're so cold?"

"It's because of my loss of life…and increased despair."

She swooned one more time before she noticed a chain around his neck.  "What's that?"

"It's—it's a—"  Before he could find an explanation, she pulled it out to reveal a cross.

"Vampire, huh?"

"I can explain!  I'm a magical vampire!"

This was when the intern slapped him.

"Word of advice, Mr. Drake," Wesley spoke from behind him.  "If you must hit on the women, stick to demons that no one has ever heard of.  The more obscure they are, the more unlikely anyone is going to figure out that you're lying."  He began to walk away, but not before one more piece of advice.  "I'd get some ice on that."

-4-

Andrew entered Bobby's office and immediately sat down in one of the chairs and began to sulk.  He didn't notice the huge chunk of ice Bobby had in his hand that was perfectly shaped like Kiera Kightly.

"Life sucks," Andrew proclaimed.

"What happened?"

"My mug got stolen."

"The one that has the Cantina scene in hologram form?!"

"Yes."

Bobby felt a different sting.  "Is there anything I can do?  I could give you one of my mugs—"

"I want MY mug!"

"You can have my—"

"You don't understand!  If I don't drink from MY mug at the beginning of MY day, then nothing goes right!"

"I have a Lynda Carter Wonder Woman mug…"

"Oooh!"

"And Andrew?"

"Yes, Mr. Drake?"

"I have a special project for you to do…you know a lot about computers, right?"

-5-

Wesley sat down and drank down the unnecessary warmth of his Earl Grey tea.  He liked his office, it was sandwiched between two very quiet floors, which gave him the added silence he loved when alone.

He sat down his cup in his saucer, when he noticed a small ripple in the glass.

"That's odd…" he thought out loud.

The ripple turned into multiple crashing waves in his cup, but that wasn't Wesley's main concern.  It was the inexcusably loud (and enviable) sound of what seemed to be either Strauss or "99 Luft Balloons" by Nena.

-6-

Bobby and Andrew sat in Angel's office, both with eyes on the floor.  Bobby hadn't met his boss yet, but was prepared for the worst.  The worst being small, dorky, and definitely not cool.

"Drake…Andrew."  

Bobby looked up to the dark gothic figure in Armani that entered the room and addressed them.  Bobby's brain did that thing where it shut down the switch between thinking and speaking and said, "Hey, Michael Knight, where's Kitt?"

Angel didn't blink.  He wanted to.  He wanted to blink the entire year of 1984 away, complete with bad perm that thankfully he could never see and was never captured on film.  But Angel didn't blink.  "I'm sorry we haven't gotten a chance to meet before now, Mr. Drake."

Bobby put himself into "ultra-cool" mode, which meant constantly asking himself, "What would Sean Connery do?"  "Me too."

"I know that you're our head of accounting, but unfortunately, the walls here at Wolfram and Hart aren't all soundproof."

"We have soundproof walls in some parts?"

"You don't want to know."

Bobby put it aside for further use.  "I'm sorry, Mr…"  Bobby couldn't bring himself to say "Mr. Angel".  Bobby was pretty sure he'd have the same problem if he had ever met "Mr. Clean".  Except for when he was around Charles Gunn.  He had a bloody lip from biting it back…and not quite succeeding.

"Just call me Angel."

Andrew tossed his head back and forth and lightly sang, "In the morning, baby…just touch my cheek before you leave me—"

"You only get one of those, Andrew," Angel warned.

"So I still get to do that?" Bobby asked, day definitely improving.

"No."

The day went back to bad.

"And I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate your audio equipment from your computer."

The day passed bad and went to "worse".

"And when you say you're a vampire, Drake, don't hold a garlic bagel while saying it."

"Yes, Angel."

"You're excused…except for you, Andrew."

-7-

"You know, I'm not just an accountant..." he whispered to the pretty young office temp.  "I also happen to be a very dangerous demon."  
  
"Are you an Ersont demon?"  
  
"Yes. Yes I am."  
  


Her face tried to hold back the grin, but it was doomed to fail by the time she broke out into full skip, singing, "Bobby's an Ersont!  Bobby's an Ersont!"

  
Bobby pouted before spying Wesley walking out of an office.  "Wesley, what's an Ersont demon?"  
  
"An Ersont is a demon that lives off of human excrement -- well, any excrement, really."  
  
"So...definitely not a cool thing to be?"

  
"Bobby...did you tell someone that you're a demon again?"  
  
"...yes."  
  
"I thought we went over this the last time when you said that you were a Graegholla demon."  
  
"How was I supposed to know that their thing was to turn into pink goo when exposed to sun?"  
  
"When your secretary said, "Hey, let's see if he turns into pink goo when we expose him to the sun", perhaps?"  
  
"She was really upset when I didn't..."  
  
"I'll get out a memo in the office explaining that you aren't a demon once again, but this is the last time. The next time you say that you are a demon, I will not deny it. Understood?"  
  


Bobby nodded with that intention in mind.  It walked away when a woman who could have only be described as sex on a happy-fun stick walked up and asked, "Hey, I heard you were a Rwonsca demon, is that true?"

"Yes.  Yes I am."  
  


Her hand went to his right shoulder blade and he felt a sharp poke with what he assumed was her finger tip, though he hoped for more.  "Then why aren't you throwing up the heads of small Hungarian babies right now?"

"Uhm…I skipped lunch."

She shook her head at him.  "Word of advice, new guy:  If you want to spread it around that you are a creature to be feared…and maybe a few other things, stick to the basics.  And stay in your own league."

"Are you in my league?" he asked hopefully.

She adjusted the scarf around her neck.  "Not only are you not in my league, you're not even playing a sport."

With that, she turned and walked out and he gawked the entire time.  He wasn't aware legs could move quite like that.

And he wasn't aware that a rolled up report rapped sharply on his head would hurt so much.

"We have a manifesto here at Wolfram and Heart, Drake," Wesley spoke.  "Well, it's really an ironclad belief that we all obey – "Don't boink the undead."

"What does that have to include you clubbing me over the head?"

"Because that particular undead that just strolled out of here is particularly unboinkable."

"Why?"

Wesley narrowed his eyes.  "You still want her?"

"Did you look at her?!"

"I did that and more, yes.  But she's undead, Drake.  Not of the living."

"But she's hot!"

"Yes, she is.  In fact, she's quite reminiscent of Elisabeth Braddock in her early days—"

Bobby broke out of his reverie.  "You know Betsy?"

Wesley stared at him.  "I…I was a fan of hers in my youth.  Why, were you?"

"No, I'm an old friend of hers.  What were you a fan of?"

Wesley laughed.  "I think you're confused.  I'm speaking of Elisabeth Braddock, Britain's top model in the late eighties, early nineties, who disappeared into obscurity.  Some say she had surgery done to look Asian.  I don't believe it, though."

Bobby snapped his fingers.  "That's what Betsy meant when she said she was in Vogue – I thought she meant she was a part of the group En Vogue, which, and don't get me wrong, she has a nice voice, but she's no funky diva."

Wesley blinked.  "You…you know Elisabeth Braddock?"

"Yeah!"

"Britain's top model, Elisabeth Braddock who's poster of her in an electric blue two piece bathing suit hung above my bed for four years?"

"Uhm…I don't know about that last part, but that's Betsy."

"How do you know Britain's top model?"

"Warren used to date her."

"Worthington – shareholder in this company – dated Elisabeth Braddock?"  Wesley added in his mind, "Past tense?"

"Yep."

Wesley wanted to ask a million questions, but felt his intimidating presence begin to slip and the old Wesley begin to seep back in.  "I think that's enough for now."

"Tell me one thing though, Wes."

"Yes?"

"What is the unboinkable broad's name?"

Wesley really wanted to warn him to stay away, but the thought of him going after her would actually put him in brighter spirits.  And he needed both brighter spirits and liquid spirits.  "Her name is Lilah."

-8-

Wesley settled down with another glass of Earl Grey.  He hadn't even taken a sip when he noticed that a small chip of the ceiling had landed neatly into it.  He went to pour the cup out when he noticed that more and more of the ceiling was beginning to fall.  As he looked up, the sound of Elvis Prestley fell on his ears like a thousand pound gorilla.

-9-

Angel allowed his mouth to form what he considered to be a smile and shouted through the room-filling sound of "Heartbreak Hotel",  "Andrew, did I ever tell you that I met Elvis?"

-10-

"Hey, Warren, it's me…Bobby.  No, Bobby, not Jimmy.  No, I'm not going to get off the phone!  You asked me to call you?  What's that?  You're expecting Jimmy Buffet to call?  Why would Jimmy Buffet call you, Warren?  Warren…Warren…Warren, why is Jimmy Buffet playing at the Wolfram and Hart Christmas party—sorry!  I didn't know it wasn't a done deal!  And no, "because I can" is not a good reason!

"I'm calling you about my progress.  Yeah, I had some.  Yes, I met Angel.  He's…well, you're more Nordic, Warren, you're a different kind of handsome—I don't have to kiss up to you, Warren.  No, I don't have to.  Hank made you promise!  Warren, I—whoa, I am NOT going to say that over the phone!  And I'm not saying that to another guy!  I've never said that to a girl, Warren, I'm not saying it to you!

"What do you mean you don't think I'm getting enough done?  I don't need help…Warren, what do you mean that it's too late….yes, I am looking at my door, no one is there…Warren, no one is—"

Andrew opened the door quickly and with force.  "She wouldn't let me call you, Mr. Drake."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me with that "Mr. Drake" stuff."  The girl turned to him.  "I've seen you in your Snoopy boxer shorts.  I'm not calling you "Mr." anything, even if you were to somehow change your shape into Mr. T right now this very instant."

Andrew clapped his hands.  "Can he do that?!"

Bobby spoke once more into the phone.  "Warren, if you don't think I'm competent enough, what makes you think Jubilee's going to help in that regard?"


	3. Hell A, pt 3

Hell-A, pt. 3

By Mice

"Go away."

"Can't. I bought shoes for this. It's a commitment."

"Go away."

"Did you not see the shoes? These are office shoes!"

"Go away."

"They have little bows on the toes! I have nowhere else to wear these shoes!"

"Go away."

Jubilee frowned at the consistent Bobby Drake. "I know what you're thinking."

"Do you?"

"Yes, and aside from the pervy lovefest you're imagining between you and your red headed dolls..."

"Action figures."

"You think that I was sent here because Warren thought you were incompetent."

Bobby glowered. He hadn_t glowered before, but he took notes on Angel. He was a good one to learn glowering from.

"To which I say, to hell what Warren thinks! Warren is an idiot! And he's paying for us both to live in L.A. for a company he forgot he owned."

Bobby shrugged. "That's not so dumb."

"No, but this is: get this, Betsy's alive."

"So far, this is perfectly believable."

"Yeah, I know. But she's back to being classic Betsy and I'm back to being the token Asian hottie."

"That's a sad day for the X-Men when you're the token--"

"It took four hours to convince Warren that it was Betsy."

"Well, that sounds reasonable, given that..."

"Wolvie knew right away."

"He's Wolverine."

"Jean knew."

"Jean's Jean."

"Scott knew."

"Scott knew?"

"Right away."

"And Warren didn't?"

"Warren forgot that Betsy was white."

"Understandable - that took some time for me to understand..."

"And blonde."

"She's back to being blonde?"

"Is there supposed to be a salon right there from when you come back from the dead?"

"I don't know and at this rate, I'll never find out."

"Anyways, Warren was being a dick about the whole thing, insisting that it wasn't his Betsy."

"What convinced him?"

"Carpet samples."

"'Carpet samples'?"

"To match the curtains."

Bobby blushed. "Oh."

"She dragged him by the ear to Hank's lab to prove to him that it was her."

"But, wait, he thought that she wasn't blonde..."

"But we'll get to Warren's broken nose later."

"Later?"

"I have photos in the bottom of my suitcase."

"I told Hank that having a camera in the lab would come in handy one day. What convinced Warren?"

"When Betsy kicked him."

"In the nose?"

"In the carpet samples."

"I see." Bobby leaned back in his chair to take it all in. "Warren is a dope, isn't he?"

"The dopiest."

"We're getting living expenses on top of salaries -"

"I have a wardrobe allowance."

"Investigating a company for something that I'm assuming neither of us has a clue about..."

"All I know is that he said 'wardrobe allowance' and everything else sounded like 'blah blah blah'."

"Well if Warren thinks we're so incompetent..."

"Actually, it was just you at the time."

"But it will be 'we' soon."

"Point."

"If he thinks we're so incompetent, we should make him pay." Bobby sat up from his desk, his hand held high in the air.

Jubilee sprang up to join him. "Yeah!"

"Dearly!"

"Yes!"

"But I already have the car."

"And these are Jimmy Choo shoes."

"Can you think of any way to make this better?"

"Not off the top of my head."

"We really are incompetent."

"It's still you at this point."

-2-

Wesley walked slowly to his office in Research, taking in different people bustling in their respective areas. He was determined to put the problem that was Robert Drake out of his mind and focus on more positive things. Such things included the new arrival of a tome that no one could even translate the title of. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but it the thought of it made him tingly.

He turned a corner and began to slowly smile at the thought when he felt someone smack into his chest. "Pardon me." He looked down and found two bright blue eyes staring up at him.

"Are you Wyndham-Price?"

His tingle went away.

"Yes."

He could have sworn that he saw her leg twitch and, if he had the hearing of a dog, heard a very high pitch squeal.

"My name is..." She paused for a second to take in his rugged, manly charms. She needed to make an impression. A lasting one.

-3-

Bobby and Wesley continued to stare at each other. Bobby was determined not to speak. That and he forgot why Wesley came into his office, but he was going to be damned if he was going to show incompetence.

"Robert?"

Bobby smiled victoriously inside. "Yes?"

"You never answered my question."

"Didn_t I?" He smiled knowingly.

"No. You didn't. Now answer me, why is it that there is a tiny Chinese girl following me everywhere I go who insists that she's Elisabeth Braddock?"

"Well, how do know for a fact that she..."

"Elisabeth Braddock is five foot eleven. This girl belongs in the Lollypop Guild with the other Munchkins."

"I was going to say that how do you know she's following you?"

"Her shoes make noise. And I keep seeing the bows on top of her shoes hiding behind curtains. And I keep hearing her giggle after I speak."

"That doesn't mean she's following you."

"Stalking me, then!"

"Well, she's not here now..."

"She's right behind you."

"She is?"

"We came in together."

"I've never known Elisabeth to remain silent for so long."

"I think that's because she's nearly drooling on your head."

Bobby quickly looked up. Jubilee's eyes were glazed over, but there was no threat of drool.

"Is there anything else, Wesley?"

"Yes, tell me who this is."

"I already told ya," Jubilee spoke up. "Elisabeth 'Betsy' Braddock, former daughter of Britain."

"Elisabeth Braddock isn't Asian."

"Didn't you hear the rumors of surgery? Don't you think that they could be true?"

"You're too short."

"Have you ever heard of a five foot eleven Asian?" Jubilee clapped her hands. "Oh, I do think we have some prejudice in the workplace."

Wesley stopped for a second. "You're working here?"

"Mr. Worthington appointed me as a research assistant in the research department."

"That's my department."

Jubilee bounced up and down, clapping her hands giddily -some would say evilly. "I know!"

"You are not Elisabeth Braddock! You are not my Betsy!"

"You're Warren Worthington's girlfriend!" Bobby pointed at Jubilee and laughed. There was also some dancing, but it's best not mentioned.

"What?!" Jubilee went pale.

"Tell me, Betsy, how is your little vanilla cookie man?"

"Warren is not my cookie man!"

"Oh, that's right, you're British - I meant to say is how is your little vanilla biscuit man?"

-4-

"And what does this do-hickey hickey do?"1 Lorne asked, cell phone ready at hand. As soon as he saw Fred take a huge breath, he made the phone handier.

"It takes an object and measures its movement. It's like the speed guns used to track fast balls in baseball - "

"Except?"

"Except that mine also makes toast."

"I've wondered when that modern convenience would come into being."

Fred grinned as she aimed her do hickey towards the research department. "Let's see what we can track..."

At that moment, the new head of department came flying out, huge grin on his terrified face.

"Wonder what that's all about?"

Fred smiled. "Ten miles per hour!"

Then, a black flying object whizzed by, narrowly missing Fred and Lorne, but not Gunn's hand.

"I can't believe you caught that."

"Well," Gunn began, trying not to wince in the slightest as he examined the object. "I didn't so much as catch it as I was trying to avert it from my face. What is this? It has little bow things on the point here..."

Fred grinned and grabbed it. "Shoes!"

Lorne grinned and grabbed it. "Jimmy Choos!"

A short Asian girl jumped up and grabbed it. "Head of accounting - where'd he go?"

All three pointed to the stairs.

Then they took a step back.

Wesley came up to join the three, a look of pale horror on his face.

"Wes?" Lorne asked. "Can you shed any light on this?"

Wesley nodded.

They waited.

"Wes?" Lorne asked. "Are you going to shed any light on this?"

"Apparently, that girl is Elisabeth Braddock."

Lorne looked at him for a moment before turning to his phone. Gunn and Fred, not being interested in models, left for their respective posts.

Wesley looked at Lorne expectantly as he got off the phone. "Well?"

"It's sad but true."

Wesley resigned himself. "So that's my Betsy."

"What?" Lorne shook his head. "I called to see if the rumor was true about 'Baby Geniuses 3'. Do you want me to look into the Elizabeth Braddock situation?"

"Elisabeth, Lorne," Wesley corrected.

"That's what I said."

"I could hear the 'z'."

Lorne patted Wesley on the back before leaving. "You're a good example of why schools should be co-ed, Wes."

-5-

Deep in the bowels of Wolfram and Hart are... well, there are bowels, because it's Wolfram and Hart and it's just that creepy. But a little to the side and a bit further down, in the pancreas of Wolfram and Hart, there lies a terror of Sumerian origin. Sumerian, of course, because it was the first civilisation to document this torture in particular. A torture so horrible that the name of it would send decent folk screaming.

"I'll do anything you want, please, just don't make me..."

"YOU HAVE NO CHOICE."

"But I can't! I can't take it anymore! If I hear one more beep, I'm going to go insane!"

Beep.

"God, I hate inventory!"

Tsaxthouggha looked at his progress - his hostages had risen to the number of six. Each had a pained look on their face - a sure sign that he was doing his demon best.

"Is this our punishment for going over an hour on our lunch break? Because it's really not our fault! The sandwich place on the corner takes forever to make a simple turkey on whole wheat."

"Oh, God, I want a turkey sandwich. Textooga?"

"TSAXTHOUGGHA."

"Yeah, whatever. Look, Tex, could you get us some food?"

"YOU WANT ME TO GET YOU SANDWICHES?"

"Well, whenever I_ve done inventory, the company always bought us lunch."

The other five hostages nodded in agreement.

"IF I GET YOU SANDWICHES, WILL YOU WORK FASTER? I REQUIRE THAT THE INVENTORY BE COMPLETED BY THE 15TH, OTHERWISE, I SHALL NEVER BE ABLE TO RISE TO POWER..."

"Will we get our paychecks?"

"YES."

"Before you sacrifice us?"

"DO YOU WANT SANDWICHES OR NOT?"

-6-

Andrew tapped his foot impatiently at the Brown Paper Bag sandwich shop. Bobby had entrusted him to get a big sandwich _ the kind with the drippy sauce and spicy peppers. Bobby had also entrusted him to get chips _ this place was notorious for not giving chips with sandwiches. Since the only thing Andrew had done that day was to list one of the old contestants of American Idol on the Internet Movie Data Base as a "Klingon Goat Eater" on Star Trek, he was looking forward to his mission. The only problem was the guy in front of him. Inevitably, he always got behind the guy who had several orders.

"NO, I REQUIRE A TURKEY SANDWICH, NO LETTUCE AND MAYONAISE ON WHEAT, TWO HAM SANDWICHES ON WHITE, A TUNA FISH..."

"We're out of tuna fish."

"BUT I NEED A TUNA FISH SANDWICH."

"Not my problem."

The man turned to Andrew, and Andrew couldn_t help but notice how unmanlike he was. Like, for one, men usually have two eyeballs located on their forehead. Andrew was quite sure that his eyeballs had a duel function of being eyeballs and nipples. He felt vaguely dirty.

"I REQUIRE THE USE OF YOUR CELL PHONE."

"Is it local?"

"I THINK SO."

Andrew handed his cell phone over.

"I CAN'T PUSH THE BUTTONS."

"Why not?"

"I HAVE LARGE, SAUSAGELIKE TENTACLES."

Andrew punched in the number for him.

"COULD YOU ASK MARISSA WHAT SHE WANTS INSTEAD OF TUNA FISH?"

"You have ears."

"...IN MY PANTS."

Andrew decided to keep the phone.

-7-

Bobby clapped his hands at the sight of his sandwich. "Are there chips?"

Andrew tossed a bag onto Bobby's desk.

"Why is my bag of chips covered with an ooze?"

"It's a funny story..."

"Is this a laser burn?"

"Not as such," Andrew explained as he pointed to the hole. "That's actually an organic laser... I forget the formal name of it... 

"The ooze is because this guy in front of me in line almost took all the chips, but I remembered that you entrusted me to get your chips, and I wasn't going to let you down!"

Bobby picked up his chips once more before looking at Andrew. "So... the ooze...?"

"Also organic..."

Bobby flung them across the room in a panic.

"...mayonnaise. It's organic mayonnaise. The guy in front of me and I went at it in the condiments section for the chips. I poked a pickle in his eye and he backed off." Andrew bounced and held his arms up in victory _ he paused briefly only to put his hand in his pocket to withdraw the eye and place it on Bobby_s desk.

Bobby opened his mouth. Then he closed it. There was absolutely nothing else he could add. "Thank you, Andrew. Go and take lunch."

"I'll be back soon!"

"No. No, take an hour."

"Are you sure you won't need me before then?"

"Positive."

-9-

Angel burst into Wesley's office. "Wes?" He looked around to find it startlingly deserted. "We have a bit of an emergency!"

"What kind?" a muffled voice shouted.

Angel looked around, trying to find the source. "We have company."

"A demon?"

Angel shrugged. "Some might say..." He looked behind a potted plant. "Where, uh... where are you?"

Wesley landed on the floor with a magnificent thud.

Angel turned his focus towards the ceiling. "You were up there?"

"Protective measures."

"Against?"

"A new girl in my department."

Angel glowered. "I met her."

Wesley's heart leapt to his chest - if she had met Angel, perhaps his rugged undead manly brooding charms that women loved so much would wow the faux-Betsy. "What happened?"

"She somehow super glued Harmony's nails to her keyboard, and asked what your favorite scone was."

Wesley cursed silently.

"Look, I'd love to talk about this all day, but we have a problem and you have to make sure Spike is very, very far away from it."

-10-

"I thought she was a model."

"I am a model."

"I thought you were supposed to be British."

"I'm totally British."

"Weren't you supposed to be blonde? I distinctly remember you being blonde. And not Asian."

"Typical American." Jubilee eyed her company. "Funny - I haven't been here long, but I do have a few quibbles with your story."

"I am unquibbicle!"

"No, what you are is underweight - you can't expect me to believe that you fight the forces of evil with arms that starving kids in Ethiopa wouldn't envy."

Buffy pouted. "My arms are not skinny! My arms are fierce weapons of ferocity!"

Jubilee took off her jacket to expose her... well, not alarmingly buff arms, but a well toned ones. "Then we are throwing down."

"Excuse me?"

"A friendly throw down." Jubilee kicked off her heels. "You win, I don't make fun of your skinny little girl arms."

Buffy smiled. "And I get your shoes."

Jubilee opened her mouth in protest, but then decided against it. She was sure she could take the Slayer that Pig #1 made of straw. "Fine. If I win..." Jubilee hadnt thought this out. She'd mostly just like to gloat that she took on a supernatural force of nature - albeit, one she just learned about an hour ago after reading some material about it in her department. But if her shoes were at stake..." If I win, you get me a date with Wesley Wyndham-Price."

Buffy laughed. "Oh, please. Wesley Wyndham-Price would date a piece of wood, provided it had breasts - wait, breasts would be just a bonus. Wood would be enough for Wesley Wyndham-Price."

Fred walked in. "What's this about Wesley?"

Jubilee motioned to Buffy. "The Slayer of the Forces of Evil Who Are Afraid of Little Girl Arms and I are going to throw down. Wanna ref?"

Fred shrugged. She had no idea who these people were, but was accustomed to various women in the building fighting over whether or not Wesley was gay. "Go ahead."

Buffy started the attack. "My arms are NOT SKINNY!"

-11-

"Look, if she's here, you can't keep her away from me."

Angel rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, I spent all my time physically restraining Buffy to keep her away from you that I only have the strength to roll my eyes at you."

"I know you're only half lyin'."

"Besides, what do you think you're going to do if she sees you? Float like bunnies? Have hot, dirty, athletic phases through objects?"

"Face it, mate. Buffy'll want to see me. If not as much, than more than she'll want to see you."

Wesley and Fred entered the office slowly. Wesley encouraged Fred to speak. "Uhm, I don't think Buffy will even recognize both of you."

Angel and Spike just stared at her.

Fred tried to think of an explanation. Finally, she came up with one that was good enough. "There's been an accident." Brilliant.

Wesley winced. "What I think Fred is trying to say is, "There's been a terrifically magnificent fight between Elisabeth Braddock and Buffy Summers, and it appears that not only is Ms. Braddock the winner, but Ms. Summers is out for the count."

Angel got up. "What?"

"It's true - Elizabeth got a lucky hit when Buffy fell on the table and I said it was legal."

Wesley winced again. "I think Fred also neglected to say that she...refereed the entire ordeal."

Fred glared at Wesley. "And I think what no one has remembered to tell Wesley is that he now has to go out on a date with Elizabeth."

"What?"

"That was the agreement. Elizabeth would stop saying that Buffy had skinny arms and give her her shoes, and Buffy would get her a date with you. She said it would be pretty easy. I was a bit confused at first because I thought it was one of those fights about whether or not Wesley was ga--" Fred bit her lip as Wesley slowly began to glower. "Gahgeous. Whether or not Wesley was gahgeous-gorgeous rather - curse my spontaneous Southern accent!"

Angel moved to the door. "Where is she?"

"She's up in the lab, resting."

Spike got up to follow. "I'm going to clock - wait, did you say Elisabeth Braddock? As in..." Spike made a crude hand gesture around his chest area. "...Elisabeth Braddock?"

Wesley let out a sigh. "Thank you!"

"What?" Spike asked. "You fancy her boobies, too? I thought that they'd be a little too, y'know, boobiesesque for you."

"You said Elisabeth with the "s" and not the "z" - there's an important distinction-" Wesley stopped himself. "Do people really think I'm gay?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Seems to be everybody but you, mate - really, you'd think you'd be the first to know-"

"I had a poster of Elisabeth Braddock in my dorm room-" 

Angel interrupted with his glowering. "So the rumors about the Asian plastic surgery are true."

"Asian?" Spike cursed. "Bollocks!"

"She is NOT Elisabeth Braddock!" Wesley insisted.

"Whatever she is," Angel said before leaving for the lab, "She knocked out Buffy - lucky shot or no. That makes her worth looking into."

"Well, y'know, as long as she has boobies..."


	4. Hell A, pt 4

Author's Note: I don't write Angel fic. I don't write Buffy fic. I don't do crossovers. So I'm still not sure how the following all happened...I must have been drunk. And Troll Princess and Wallace are to blame for this. Largely. Like, super-sized blame. That's a whole lotta blame. And take everything in here with a grain of salt. And I'm entitled to my opinion of Buffy's looks and to have Bobby share that opinion.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Bobby Drake, Warren Worthington, III, any characters off of the series Angel or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If you like it and want to archive it, write me back so I'll know where to see my name on the internet and go, "Ooh, it's my name on the internet." Hope someone enjoys it. 

Hell-A

By Mice

Chapter 4: Massacre at Casa Bonita

It had started - as all mornings do - innocently enough.

"Andrew, is there any particular reason why there's an impromptu dance off in front of my office?" Robert L. Drake, Andrew's boss and head of accounting at Wolfram and Hart, asked as he attempted to enter his office.

It was quickly explained that there was a misinterpretation when someone had shouted, "Go, Andrew! It's your birthday!" that inadvertently led into a turf war between New Files and Accounting and somebody needing to be served. Bobby was surprised to learn that Luke Kim - the tech guy - was one hell of a pop and locker. Much to the chagrin of Accounting, Luke Kim cited allegiance with New Files.

Bobby then got an idea how to save the cred of Accounting and to once and for all, serve New Files.

It was evident in moments soon after that idea that Bobby - while a master of the worm - could not pop and lock without inducing laughter – loud, cacophonous, mocking laughter.

Bobby's next clue that today was not to be an ordinary day was when Andrew had handed him a card to sign that was already filled out, "Dear "Chewie" (Andrew): Thank you for valued company here at the Millennium Falcon - I couldn't do it without you! Happy Birthday -- "Han Solo" (Bobby)."

That wasn't so strange - Robert had signed many documents "Han Solo" before.

But not even Bobby could prepare himself for the mission that Wesley had come into his office to give him.

"No one told me!"

"The clues were there, Robert..."

"Is that why the department got muffins today?"

"No. Your department got muffins because it's Friday. Every Friday, someone in the department brings in something for breakfast."

Bobby licked his mouth clean of blueberry. "Oh. Well, I need to give somebody a raise, then. These muffins are fantastic!" Bobby held up the small basket that were situated on his desk when he came in (with a card from Andrew, saying that he wrestled former a WWF superstar, who was currently making money as an accountant in the off season, for the blueberry ones because he knew that they were Bobby's favorite.) "Muffin?"

"No, thank you. I...don't like muffins."

Bobby's mouth hung open. "You don't like muffins?"

Andrew's voice soon came on the intercom. "You don't like muffins?"

Fred entered Bobby's office. "How can you not like muffins?"

Wesley tried to come up with a brilliant defense. When that failed, he returned to the matter at hand. "Look, Andrew is - believe it or not - a very valued employee and it's customary that such valued employees get taken out to lunch on their birthdays. Do you have such a plan?"

"Uh...no."

"Well, then, let's make one." Wesley went to the phone. "Name a place where we can all go out to lunch and I'll make the reservation."

"Who's we?"

"Well, you, Andrew, of course, myself...Miss Burkle back there, plus a few others. That makes seven--"

"Don't forget Spike!" Fred perked up.

"But isn't Spike a bit..." Wesley waved his right hand waftily in the air.

"That's what I came down here to tell you - he recorporialized last night! I think he'd be up for some lunch."

"Splendid..." Wesley trailed off. "Eight."

Bobby felt a bad tugging on his brain. It was the sort of tug that invited trouble. "Nine. Ah, Betsy would never forgive me if I didn't invite her."

"Which one?" Fred asked.

"Which what, now?" Bobby asked, frustrated.

Wesley winced as he rubbed his left leg. "Just make sure you say hello to Buffy this morning."

"But—" Fred interrupted, but was silenced by Wesley's hand gestures.

"Better make it both of them...ten, then. Any suggestions for a--"

Wesley was interrupted by a very loud squeal from Fred. "Casa Bonita!"

Wesley peered behind him. "I knew there was another reason why you followed me in here."

It had started off - as most days do - innocently enough. Angel began to walk towards his office, but before going in, he went to his receptionist's desk to grab his cup of blood for the day.

"'ere ya go, luv."

Angel knew it was wrong - having actually occupied England at one time or another - but even with this accent, Angel still found himself attracted to Buffy.

Angel paused for a second and let that thought roll around in his mind for a bit. "Buffy?"

Angel soon felt himself flat on his back with Buffy over him. "Now let's get one thing straight, here, luv. You can call me Elisabeth, Betsy, Bets, Ms. Braddock...but you are never to call me "Buffy"!"

Angel looked around to find Lorne coming at him. "Sorry, tall, dark, and tall - I was going to tell you before you came in, but New Files was getting served and Luke Kim was, well – anyway, we had a bit of a pow wow about what to do with Bu--" Lorne looked nervously at Buffy. "With you know who after the whole...altercation and figured she'd be safest here with you."

Angel's nod came slow. "All right. Now tell me why she hit me and why she's telling me that she's Elizabeth Braddock!"

"We were going to call you to tell you that, too. It appears that when Elizabeth the First clocked her out yesterday, she remained a bit fixated on the Elizabeth thing and when she woke up, she was talking in that accent and claiming to be...well, Betsy Braddock 2: Electric Boogaloo."

"Couldn't call me with something like that?"

"Well, we were, but something else happened before we could call you--"

"'ello, Angel."

That Cockney accent, Angel was pleased to note, did not arouse anything but anger out of him. "Spike."

"Did the little green man tell you? I'm all corporialized again." Spike took a moment to knock on the wooden desk of the reception area.

Angel glowered at Lorne. "I thought we had a special phone for when we could finally get rid of him."

"They're coming in tomorrow."

Angel was a few seconds from resuming his prior glower when a moment of genius came snuck up on him. "Spike - be friendly. Say hello to my new receptionist."

It had started out - as most hellos do - innocently enough.

"Oi've never 'ad anyone call me Buffy - it ain't dignified. An' already today, it's 'appened twice!"

"Don't worry, you two," Lorne reassured the snickering Angel and the slightly bent Spike before heading out. "It took us a while to figure out. This scarf on moi isn't just a fashion accessory and you'd do best not to question Gunn about why he's wearing a beret. Or why Wes is limping ever so slightly." He was almost gone when he added, "Also, I just got the word - we're going out to lunch today - Casa Bonita."

It had all started off - as all walks down the hall do - innocently enough.

Gunn and Wesley began to pass each other in the hall when a roaming band of file clerks stared curiously.

"It's "Say Something Hat Day", damn it!" Gunn shouted.

Wesley moaned, "The sex was so good that we named it!"

The clerks clucked their tongues and agreed: Sometime in the past twenty-four hours, Charles Gunn and Wesley Wyndham-Pryce got served.

It had all started off - as most business lunches do - innocently enough.

Casa Bonita wasn't any ordinary Mexican restaurant - except for the fact that when Fred entered, a bus boy rightfully scampered quickly into the kitchen to warn the cooks on staff of El Burkle. There was a mariachi band, yes, but there was also a waterfall made for cliff divers.

Soon, the ten employees of Wolfram and Hart found themselves seated at a long table in the back. Except Andrew, who had to go to the bathroom.

What also made Casa Bonita (e)special(ly embarrassing) was it's dedication to the best faux Mexican experience, as well as goodly priced Mexican food. The best faux Mexican experience included hats, much to the chagrin of several people at the table. Wesley appeared to have a doctor's note about the sombrero and managed to score instead a bright and sparkly jorongo. Even with the omission of Wesley, there weren't enough sombreros to go around (as Gunn's "Say Something Hat Day" continued) and Angel found himself in a very large and very colorful poncho. It was widely agreed that somewhere in the world, there was wardrobe crisis in a production of "Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat". When Angel began to protest that the colors clashed with his black outfit, the mariachi band – Red Hot Mariacha-cha – came over to drown out his protests.

Spike led the way in a standing ovation.

"So, Bobby," Fred asked while arranging her area for optimal eating efficiency. "Is there good Mexican food from where you're from?"

Bobby nodded as he wondered if it was such a good idea to sit next to the cute, brainy chick. "Well, I live near New York City…"

"You grew up in New York City?"

"…sure."

Jubilee rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Drake here is a real city boy. He also used to live in LA – he went to UCLA for a bit."

An alarm went off in Bobby's head – unfortunately, another alarm went off just a few seconds before that said, "The other Betsy has boobies!" which made the other instantly forgotten.

Jubilee continued. "Hey, Mr. Drake, tell us about the time when you were in Venice Beach and that homeless guy asked you for some money, and you hit the floor and gave him your wallet because you thought you were being robbed?"

Wesley relaxed – as much of his own past exploits were…a bit on the embarrassing side, nothing could compare to—

"Oh, that's nothing!" Gunn interjected. "Once, Wesley here bought a Speedo and wore it into the pool."

Fred immediately giggled. "I remember this!"

Angel blinked. "And why was this so funny?" He turned to Wesley as Gunn and Fred were gone with laughter.

"The article of clothing in question…was a very light cream color," he tenetively answered.

"You wore a white Speedo into a pool?" Spike asked as he pointed. "Now that takes brass ones, there."

Wesley grimaced. "Thank you…I think."

"Don't get me wrong – they are bloody and incredibly stupid brass ones, but brass ones, nonetheless. But I'm just guessin', let's ask someone who witness the event – Fred, luv, were they brass?"

Fred paid no attention as she was quickly scribbling down her order to the waiter who was sweating profusely at the number.

Jubilee broke out of her lust filled reverie as soon as another classic Bobby tale came to her mind. "Oh, once, there was this time when Bobby was with the Champions and—HEY!" Jubilee yelped as she was suddenly aware that her entire right leg was covered in ice.

"Betsy, there's no tell about that."

Wesley leaned in. "Was this another band camp or music conservatory, Bobby?"

Bobby made a promise—no, a solemn oath to destroy Jubilee once this was all over. "Actually it was a band. Just a band. It happened around the time I was here in Los Angeles and I had a band. Named the Champions."

Jubilee clapped her hands. "They covered Frank Stallone's "Far From Over"!"

Lorne began to pay attention. "Hey, did you have a guy named Dante in the band? Manager named Virgil? Groupie named Beatrice? Because that's the only reason to cover a Frank Stallone song."

Bobby glared at his pint-sized friend, who simply shrugged. "You explain Worthington's head band!"

"OW!" The table turned where Buff—Betsy. (I totally wrote Betsy. If she asks you, I wrote Betsy.) The table turned to where Betsy was sitting, having finally put enough salt on her chip with salsa on it. A small bit was nibbled off and Betsy was cradling her tongue. "WATER!"

Bobby leaned in to whisper to Jubilee. "What else did you tell her about Betsy?"

"I said she was British."

"Yes, I can tell by the Dick Van Dyke cockney accent. What did you say about the British?"

"I didn't say anything!"

"Jubilee…"

"I swear I didn't! But she went on about how the British were weenies!"

"Jubilee…"

Jubilee let out a loud sigh. "All right, she may have said something about Wesley being a weenie, and I said he wasn't, then she said he was so, and, well, that highly intelligent debate went on for a bit until she began to talk about Wesley's inspiring cowardice at everything he was exposed to."

Angel turned to them. "What did she specify about Wesley's cowardice?"

Wesley whipped his head around to the conversation at hand. "Do we really need to specify?"

Fred nodded. "Well, it could prepare us for more events like this…"

"Me TONGUE is on FIRE!" Betsy screamed as she thrashed around the restaurant, stealing other people's water and salt shakers and pouring each down her throat.

"Elisabeth isn't that bad—" Wesley began, only to be interrupted by Betsy 2.

"Me tongue is gurna burn off, it is!" she screamed from dragging her tongue along the waterfall.

Jubilee began to recite. "She said that when she first met him, Wesley was afraid of shadows, bunnies, mice, pepper, canned beverages, fire, villagers, boobies, American chocolate, white underwear, wrinkles in clothing, anything exotic or complicated…bras…she went on, but she said that he was a bad example of what being British is, and that's when I began talking about Bet—me. I began talking about me. I am Elizabeth Braddock, token British-in-an-American-Asian-body-fear-my-hotness."

"Was there anything else?" Gun inquired.

"I think we have a good basis of what was said of the typical British male's fears…" Wesley offered. "Not that they are true, of course."

The table looked over to Betsy 2, who had the wait staff surrounding her, trying to help ease her pain. Betsy was screaming for an epidermal and Red Hot Mariacha-cha tried to help, but even the sounds of an all mariachi "Ice Ice Baby" for a visual can only help so much.

Angel looked to her again. "Did she say anything else? Like, what they weren't afraid of?"

"She did say something…" Jubilee brightened. "Okay, I'm going to need either a mother's breast or a teddy bear!"

A bear was quickly tossed to her from the inner depths of Fred's purse. No one asked questions.

Even when Fred cautioned not to clasp it too hard or touch the eyes for health hazard reasons. Even Bobby, who was now sporting a new scar from playing keep-away with what he thought was a tube of lipstick. Seven stitches later showed him the error in his ways.

Betsy grasped the teddy bear tightly and immediately began to suck her thumb.

Lorne – finally out of every last one of his, "What the fuck is going on here?" expressions – spoke. "Wes…"

Wesley glowered. "While I admit that I was not on the top of my game in Sunnydale, I never knew that I inspired such a caricature of cowardice."

Spike raised his hand immediately. "Oh, I knew. I heard tales. When I met you, I was surprised that you were you and not permanently attached to yer mom's tit." He placed his hand on his chest. "And I think I might be to blame for that particular remark."

Lorne shook his head. "Great, so all we have to do is keep Betsy here away from everything except for the sun –"

Jubilee interrupted. "Actually, that might not be such a good idea – she said something about "burning easily under the sun"—"

Spike pointed to himself again. "Again, that might be me. And I'd keep her away from canned cheeses as well. And anything French. And any American re-makes of British shows. Again, that all might be me."

Lorne breathed. "Okay. We'll put her in a dark hole where nothing can get to her and we'll be fine until she snaps out of it." Lorne rose to his feet motioning to Bobby and Jubilee. "Betsy isn't looking too good, I'm going to go to take her back to Wolfram & Hart – Bobby, you drove, so you get to take us. Betsy 1, you kept changing the radio station whenever it cued up Manilow. Come with and keep it up."

Angel watched as they left and motioned for Gunn and Wesley to come closer. "All right, I want you two to find a way to keep constant surveillance on those two."

Gunn shrugged. "Bobby and Lorne? I don't think they like each other like that, Angel—"

Angel grunted. "Bobby and the other Betsy! I heard him call her another name…"

Wesley brightened. "I knew it! I knew it!" He bounced. He caught himself before he did it again. "Well, I did. What was the name?"

Angel leaned in closer to them. "I heard him clearly call her Novalee."

The three nodded solemnly. Gunn and Wesley grabbed their jackets and left. They broke out into a sprint when the staff at Casa Bonita came to chase them down to get back the lent wardrobe.

Spike stood up and motioned for the door. "Well, great lunch, Angel. Just brilliant. I'm gonna just go and wait for Betsy to wake up—" Spike made a mad dash with his coat over his head out the door.

Angel took a minute to process before running out in a similar fashion. "Spike—"

Andrew returned from the bathroom. "Where did everybody go?"

A voice behind a small mountain of tacos spoke, "Betsy hurt her tongue on some salsa, and so everybody left."

Andrew sat down in his chair and sulked. "They left without me?"

"I'm still here, Andrew."

"I guess you're my only friend in the world, magical talking pile of tacos."

Next…Spy vs. Spy vs. the Pizza Guy

  



	5. Hell A, pt 5

Hell-A, part 5

By Mice

Wesley and Gunn sat in an armored sea foam green Geo Metro outside Robert Drake's apartment. They passed a thermos between them full of good Irish whiskey – Wesley promised it would grow a good amount of hair on top of Gunn's head – in an effort to pass the time.

The only thing they had gleaned from their watch of fifteen minutes was that Robert Drake was not at home.

They would have left, but the pizza Gunn ordered upon parking hadn't arrived yet.

Bobby and Jubilee carefully exited out of her Mini Cooper that Warren had bought for her. Her car, despite the turquoise blue and hot pink racing stripes, was a great deal less conspicuous than Bobby's Aston Martin. Especially as Jubilee's personalized plates had not arrived yet. Jubilee had mentioned that they said "TKNAZNHTY", but he hoped that she was joking.

They entered the building with no problems and found Wesley Wyndham-Pryce's apartment with less problems. Bobby froze the locks on his door and with one slight nudge of his shoulders, he and Jubilee were inside the apartment.

"Whoa," she said.

"WHOA!" he exclaimed.

Jubilee immediately began to take pictures with the digital camera Warren had bought for their mission (this was the first time it wasn't being used to take pictures of the hot asses she found at Wolfram and Hart. She had a full memory card dedicated to Wesley already.) Bobby had taken off to the kitchen.

"Bobby, I can't believe I'm going to say this, but chill out! You are not a kid. This? Is not a candy store. We are—"

Bobby ran back in, right hand first. "Piggy oven mitt! He has a pig oven mitt!" He made small oinking noises and made the pig attack her.

Jubilee took a picture of it. "I'm filing for harassment."

Bobby left her again to explore the house.

"I'm going to go look for clues that he might be evil…like, clues in his DVD collection…if he has any episodes of Friends, then we know that this is one hardcore bastard." Jubilee picked up one series set and scrunched her nose. "Doctor what now?"

Bobby ran back to her again, right hand raised up. "MACE!" Bobby did a little jump. "He has a mace!"

Jubilee blinked at him. Then took a picture of him dancing with the mace.

Bobby departed as Jubilee thought it would be prudent of her as an investigator to investigate Wesley's room, particularly his underwear drawer.

She found way more than what she was looking for. And took pictures.

"NO WAY!" she heard Bobby yell from the living room.

"You know, Bobby, maybe screaming isn't the way to conduct a secret investigation…"

Bobby pointed to a door. "Mini-dungeon!"

Jubilee immediately took a picture. "Kinky."

Bobby sighed in happiness. "Do you know how many chicks this guy must get?"

Jubilee showed him all the pictures.

"He has five years worth of condoms?"

"Actually, these are listed as the condoms for this month…he has another box marked next month…he also had a box for the previous month, here, see?"

"It's an empty box."

"I know."

Bobby sat in the nearest chair. "This…is my dream pad!"

"Your dream pad has various bits of dangerous weaponry, a dungeon, and boxes full of condoms?"

"Don't forget the pig oven mitt."

Jubilee shook her head. "What gives, Bobby?"

"I am an X-Men. And when I first joined, tender age of sixteen, didn't even know how to drive yet, I had stricter rules for my room. I couldn't even bring in Pixie Sticks because of their threatening shape. Or Twix's…but that was more because they came in packs of two and I'd always have two people grab me before I made it to my room." Bobby grinned a bit evilly as he picked up the object beside him. "I bet if I had a crossbow, I would have had my Twix."

Jubilee took a picture.

Lorne stared at Fred's terminal as she frantically searched for any information for their new employee, Robert Drake. The name yielded too many results (being a very common name) and Fred was now beginning to hack into some of the more secure websites.

Andrew was in the corner sleeping, but every once in a while, would fidget and say, "You're breaking my heart, Bobby" and "Hold me, Bobby, hold me like you did by the lake on Naboo!"

"Fredcakes, are you sure this is wise? I mean, I know we are in the Axis of Evil – I keep expecting the guy in the urinal next to me in the Little Lorne's Room to sieg heil me and have a black, toothbrush moustache, but aren't you the teensiest bit afraid of, oh, I don't know, SWAT teams bursting through the ceiling because we might accidentally find out who really killed JFK?"

Fred didn't even look up. "I looked that up my first day here. I don't want to give it away, but that was Wolfram and Hart."

"Marilyn Monroe's death?"

"Yep."

"Natalie Wood's drowning?"

"Wouldn't do West Side Story 2: Electric Boogaloo."

"And Woodstock?"

"Music fest or Peanuts character?"

"Either."

"Can't find it explicitly fingered, but I believe they had a gyro stand at the music fest, but I couldn't bring myself to look up Charles Schulz." Fred shook her head. "Some things are too sacred, Lorne."

"Haven't looked up Santa Claus yet, either, have you kid?"

"There are some things that this girl still needs to believe in…" Fred's voice trailed off as she finally found a lead. "It's uploading…"

One Week Ago…

Hank McCoy and Kitty Pryde had almost refused Warren. They knew how important this assignment was to him, but Hank really needed to do some laundry and Kitty was playing WoW. Warren pressed, citing that he trusted Bobby enough to do this mission and needed a fake file on him out there for anyone who would want to look him up. Warren explained that he even gave Bobby an expense account.

At this, Hank and Kitty agreed to help out Warren. Not for the team, of course, but out of jealousy.

It was Kitty's brainstorm to execute it, but the who was all Hank. No one knew Bobby like Hank. No one knew what Bobby hated most in the world like Hank. And no one would dare go to that place known only as "there" like Hank.

Soon would come the demands of what they wanted in the name of Warren's expense account and Hank prayed that Charlize Theron had a price tag.

Present.

"This is bad…" Fred motioned to Lorne to come over and pointed to the monitor.

Lorne stared at the screen. "You mean he…and her?"

Fred shook her head at the monitor. "It looks like Bobby is clean…but at least we know why it seemed like he was keeping something secret."

Andrew slowly shuffled his feet slowly over to the computer and quickly woke up after reading the screen and promptly had his heart broken.

Bobby opened the door to his apartment and let Jubilee in. He pointed to his computer desk where Jubilee promptly began to upload the photos. Bobby promptly ordered take out.

"What are we going to tell Warren?"

Jubilee shrugged. "While hot, these people are clearly up to no good. Or something. Maybe Los Angeles has just changed so that every apartment comes with a dungeon."

At that, Bobby disappeared. He returned a few moments later shaking his head. "I don't think that's the answer. There's demons, there are people who are not dead walking around and being all sexy and undead and sexy…and people go missing on a daily basis…this isn't a good place to work for. We need to tell Warren to get out of here." Bobby sat down on his couch and put a hand to his head. "Tomorrow. We'll tell him tomorrow."

Jubilee knocked on Bobby's office door before entering; for once, she didn't have to brush off Andrew, who was curiously not at his desk that morning. "Bobby?"

She walked in the room and saw her friend, looking haggard and scruffy. "Bobby, for the last time, there isn't a dungeon in your penthouse!"

"I've accepted that, Jubilee--"

"Listen good, ice boob - you have to stop calling me that! I'm Betsy Braddock, total Asian, hottie!"

"Whatever, Miss B." Bobby pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on. "Hey, do I look hotter with the glasses or without?"

"Bobby, your entire face is a collage of things that are not hot. Don't add to that pile. What's with the scruff?"

"You don't think it adds to my manly charms?"

"You look like the bearded lady."

Bobby smiled. "I think you protest too much."

Jubilee scowled. "Whatever, ice for brains." Jubilee gave her eyes a hard roll. So hard that she didn't see Bobby advance on her. "What?"

Bobby promptly pressed his chin onto her cheek and proclaimed, "RUG BURN!"

Angel glowered at the file as he turned to his team in his office. "Guys…this isn't really all that bad."

Gunn pounded a fist onto the table. "We are talking about an infestation on our country! How can you say "not that bad"?"

Angel looked at Wesley, who replied, "We ordered pizza last night during surveillance. It never reached us."

"And that's a reason to be cranky?"

It was Gunn's turn to glower as Wesley further explained. "When we left, it was late and Gunn was still hungry, so we found ourselves at one of those twenty-four hour Pizza Hut/Taco Bell establishments.

"They were out of pizza."

"I had to eat crappy tacos."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the room until a voice came on the intercom. "Mr. Drake and Ms. Braddock are currently in his office, Mr. Angel. And it sounds like there's an argument."

Andrew was the first out the door.

"TAKE THAT BACK!"

"Never."

Andrew burst inside the office, winded, and found Bobby seated at his desk pouting while Jubilee was rubbing her red cheek and smiling. "Mr…Drake…" he puffed. "Do you…need…anything?"

Angel, Wesley, Gunn, and Fred soon joined Andrew. Angel spoke first, "All right, what's going on, here? Why is Ms. Braddock's cheek red?"

Jubilee grabbed a cold bottle of water and pressed it against her cheek. "Mr. Drake was abusing me."

"That's a laugh! Just a minute ago, you said my beard was a silken sheet of softness!"

"I was trying to make you stop!"

"I forgot that old saying – _silken sheet of softness means no!_ I'm sorry, Miss B."

"Okay, that's enough!" Angel bellowed. "There will be no more spousal abuse in this office!"

Bobby and Jubilee squinted their eyes at their boss.

"Fred ran a check on you, Drake, and it appears you kept a secret from us – both of you." Angel handed them a piece of paper.

Bobby looked at it and grinned. "This is so awesome!"

Jubilee snatched it from his hands and promptly cried.

Wesley cleared his throat. "So, neither of you deny that Mr. Drake is married to Miss Braddock?"

Bobby gave a thumbs up. "I am married to Britain's top model!"

Jubilee hit him. "You dorkus malorkus – we're married!"

Bobby grabbed the paper back. "But I was saving myself!"

"For the last time, Bobby – Princess Leia is Han Solo's soul mate, not yours!"

Angel took back the paper and stared hard at the bickering couple. "Neither of you knew about this?"

Bobby looked at the paper again. "Mexico? When were we in Mexico, B?"

Wesley held up another piece of paper. "According to this magazine article, you and Miss Braddock endured a seven day orgy of liquor, drugs, and…well…sex in Tiajuana earlier last month and were married by Charlton Heston."

Bobby shook his head. "This isn't happening…Charlton Heston wouldn't let this happen…"

Jubilee began to cry again. "I was saving myself!"

"For the last time, Betsy – Lance Bass is gay!"

"And you're cousin!" Fred perked up.

"And you never told me!" Jubilee then racked up her second TKO while at Wolfram & Hart.

Elsewhere…deep in the bowels of Wolfram & Hart…

"Did you hear that? Lance Bass is gay!"

"Oh, please – boy was so far in the closet, he was in Narnia."

"Please – boy was so far in the closet, he was wearing Tom Cruise's boxer briefs."

"PLEASE. BOY WAS SO FAR IN THE CLOSET, THAT…UHM…THAT…THAT THE ONLY LIGHT HE SAW WAS FROM THE REFLECTIONS OF LIBERACE'S OUTFIT!"

"That was a good one, Tsaxthouggha!"

Tsaxthouggha was pleased with himself. Not only had his new employees bought him a nifty mug, he was fitting in with them. And the 15th was growing. Soon, the world would know his wrath.


	6. Hell A, pt 6

Hell-A, Part 6

By Mice

"Andrew, is that a black veil on your head?"

Andrew peered at Wesley from underneath the piece of sheer black material. "I assure you, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, it's a very stylish piece of haberdashery for a man. It's a fedorna."

"A fedorna?"

"It's a fedora with a veil on it. A manly veil!" Andrew took it off to show him. "Kanye West has one."

Wesley made no attempt to touch the fedorna. "Why are you wearing it?"

Andrew sighed sadly. "Because today is the day Mr. Drake signs…that contract."

'That contract' was code for "The Californian PartnersS at Work Protection Agreement" act, or…

"The C-PAWPA?"

"We don't call it that in accounting. " Andrew motioned over to Carlos Francisco's desk where a woman was yelling at him, demanding to know who else was calling him by her secret nickname.

Wesley slowly averted his eyes and focused back on Andrew. "You don't really believe that the girl is really Elisabeth Braddock?"

Andrew's eyes darkened. "I don't know about that, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce, but there's no way that Mr. Drake is married to her."

*

Bobby waited nervously by Charles Gunn's office. Jubilee paced around, looking at him angrily.

"I should have known you would have ruined things for me and Wesley! All I did was come out here to help you – help my FRIEND – my NON-HUSBAND – and I fell in love. Did you help me? No. Did you support me? No. Did you somehow go back in time to marry me? YES!"

Forced to take a breath, Bobby took advantage of Jubilee's silence. "I never said you had to go by the alias "Betsy Braddock". That was your doing. And I didn't marry you. Apparently, that was Hank's doing. He and Kitty posted an A/P item that got picked up."

"You told Hank my alias? Bobby, Psylocke can kick my ass if she learns I've been posing as hers!"

Bobby paused. "No. I didn't."

"So why did he post that article using Betsy's name?"

He was a skilled accountant. A graduate of Dartmouth. He did the math so quickly that when he went to bury his face in his hands, they missed them completely. "Pixie, that article smacks of one of my stupid tangents, right down to Charlton Heston marrying us. She's not going to blame Hank or Kitty – not even you." He turned to look at her, his face pale. "She's not going to kick your ass, she's going to kick mine."

"You bet she's gerna kick 'er bloody blimey arse!"

It was Jubilee's turn to go pale. "The other Betsy! The skinny armed one!"

Buffy marched furiously towards Jubilee. "I'm 'ere to sign a love contract with me husband today – what do ye think yer doin' 'ere, ye imposter?"

Jubilee opened her mouth. Jubilee closed her mouth. Then Jubilee ran.

*

Angel sat with the two Elizabeth Braddocks in front of him. Both with cat scratched faces. Bobby Drake was toward the back, head hung low. Charles Gunn stood between the two with a hand on their nearest shoulder.

"Bigamy?" Angel asked.

"Right now, the C-PAWPA doesn't cover for the clause of their being two women claiming to be the same one, so as it stands, our head of accounting is currently a bigamist."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Well, that's where California law and Wolfram & Hart's employee handbook differ. If Mr. Drake was Mormon, he would be up for immediate dismissal."

"Because certain sects of Mormonism accept having more than one wife?"

"No, just because he's Mormon. Wolfram & Hart will tolerate much, but not magic underwear."

Angel looked to Bobby. "Are you Mormon?"

"Irish-Catholic, recovering."

Angel smiled small. "Me, too."

Gunn cleared his throat. "Since Drake isn't Mormon, and one of his claimed wives is a vampire slayer put under some kind of amnesiac trance by his other wife…his bigamy entitles him to a bonus."

"Bonus?" Bobby stood dumbly. He had worked in accounting before, done a good job. Been an X-Men for a long time. He had screwed up plenty. This was the first time that any of those traits and circumstances had gotten him a bonus. Bonus, the bonus happened because of all three. There was only one thing he could do.

Victory lap.

*

"You're going to have to wait, Miss. Mr. Drake is in a meeting."

"Understood, but it is quite urgent that I speak to him at once." The woman at Andrew's desk stood perfectly still with magnificent poise. Andrew didn't like it one bit.

"Mr. Drake is a very busy man and is very much I demand. I am going to have to insist that if you need to see him, you either make an appointment like everybody else or sit and wait in one of those chairs."

The woman was silent for a moment. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. As such, she wasn't quite sure why she was being told to wait. She could fix that easily. All she had to do was –

"Andrew, do you know where Gunn is? I think I found out some new information on our Betsy Braddock." Wesley put a folder down on Andrews desk. He had practically ran there from his office. It was a lucky break and normally, he wasn't the tech genius – that was all Fred. But this time, he came through. He felt so like beaming that he didn't notice the beautiful woman at Andrew's desk. "I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to break in. I hope you'll forgive me, Miss Braddock."

Wesley continued to almost glow with a job well done when he and Andrew locked eyes and connected their thoughts for a split second with what Wesley said. Wesley slowly allowed himself to turn to the woman again. Tall, creamy skinned with dyed purple hair with eyes to match. A smile that was too beautiful to call smug. There was no doubt to Wesley that this was the woman whose poster hung above his bed at boarding school. "Truly, you are the one true Elisabeth Braddock." With all the confusion of the recent days, Wesley genuflected.

Andrew's face struck lightening. "You realize what this means, Mr. Wyndham-Pryce? The rumors of Asian plastic surgery were false!"

Wesley nearly lunged at Andrew, but Betsy spoke up. "No, they were true." She turned to Wesley, smiling to put him at ease. "I got better."

Wesley almost had to pinch himself. Tech wizardry. The problems with Drake about to be a thing of history. And now, Elisabeth Braddock. There was only one thing he could do.

Victory lap.

*

Running with the feet of a dancer from the left wing of Wolfram & Hart to the reception area was Bobby Drake – in his hand, a flagpole with the American flag affixed to it. His voice sang out, "I did something right!

Running with a braggart's swagger from the right wing of Wolfram & Hart to the reception area was Wesley Wyndham-Pryce – in his hand, a flagpole with the Union Jack affixed to it. His voice sang out, "The real Elisabeth Braddock is here!"

They met in the middle. They stopped for a brief second as their eyes connected. There was only one thing they could do.

Fist bump.

*

Angel turned away from watching Wesley and Bobby and focused his attentions to Elizabeth Braddock – the one, true Elizabeth Braddock – who stood gorgeously to his left, the two claimants to the title to the back of him, and Gunn to the right along, "So, if Drake is married to three Elizabeth Braddock's…what does that get him?"

"I don't know – I think we have to create something even more special than the Flip camcorder he was going to get as a bonus…"

"Oo iz she? Where's me mummy? Oi wanna watch Eastenders! Why are Katie Price and Peter Andrew divorcin'? Just yoo wait, 'enry 'iggins!" Buffy the Betsy whined.

There was only one thing the real Elizabeth could do.

Elizabeth turned around wordlessly and brought a fist to Buffy the Betsy's head. Instead of hitting her, it paused right before physical contact was made, but not before mental contact.

"Ow."

Angel went over to the now slumped over Buffy the Betsy and held her in his arms.

"What did you do to her?" Gunn asked, not understanding what was going on.

"Betsy?" Angel said while stroking Buffy the Betsy's cheek.

Her eyelids fluttered and she brought a hand to her forehead. "Why are you calling be Betsy? And why does my head feel like it's filled with liquid needles of pointy, pointy death?"

Elizabeth smiled. "You'll be fine, Buffy. You're in pain because I went inside your brain, turned off the part of you that thought you were me and made you back into you. And because you clearly have no idea how to do a proper British accent."

"You went inside her brain?!"

"Yes, Mr. Gunn. I am a mutant gifted with telepathic powers. Jubilation – the other claimant to the name of Elizabeth Braddock – is also a mutant."

Jubilee made a "whoop-di-doo" circle in the air with her right index finger; a series of small firecracker pops and whistles with brilliant flashes of yellow and blue outlining the air pattern.

Angel became annoyed. "And Drake, too, right?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Warren Worthington sent he and Jubilation here to see what sort of an investment this was. He didn't know if you or the company was trustworthy enough to keep in his portfolio. "

"Is Drake even an accountant?"

"Despite that gallon of Gatorade he is currently pouring over his head, Bobby is certified. That's one of the reasons why I'm here. He's my accountant and he hasn't had time to do my taxes yet." Elizabeth shook her head sadly. "Not only am I a British citizen filing American taxes, I came back from the dead this year. I don't know if I have to pay an Estate Tax on myself. It's April 15th and I only have a couple of hours left before it's too late."

Just then, out of breath and fedorna still on, Andrew stopped running and put a hand on Angel's shoulder to steady himself.

"What's your victory lap about, Andrew?"

"Not—a—victory lap. Ran here—reporting—for duty. The accounting department—gone!"

"Gone? Like they all went to lunch or…?"

"No. People—C Papa—desks—walls—gone!"

"Carlos is gone?" Angel shook his head. "This doesn't make sense. We just had people disappearing, not an entire physical area!"

The building rumbled. The PA system clicked on and a voice boomed, "THE TIME HAS COME FOR THE ASCENSION OF TSAXTHOUGGA!"

Everyone stood in stunned silence.

Except Gunn.

"You went inside her brain?!"

To be concluded…


End file.
